


Sharpshooter Book II-- The Galactic Civil War

by general_williams



Series: Sharpshooter (Star Wars) [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, America, Cops, Drug Smuggling, Drugs, Gen, High School, LOL YOU THOUGHT IT WAS OVER, Marijuana, Original Character(s), POV Original Character, PTSD, Police, Police Brutality, Racism, Rebellion, Shapeshifting, Vampires, Weed, adults are shitty people yet again, for the love of the Force don't actually do anything illegal guys, think again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2018-07-17 22:41:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7288975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/general_williams/pseuds/general_williams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Republic is gone. The Jedi are gone. Alex Williams remains.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back everyone!  
> Make sure to read Book I if you have not already!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex Williams awakens to find herself on her home planet of Earth

            I was comfortable. That was my first thought. I was in bed. The mattress was soft and the blanket was fluffy. A cool breeze blew across my face. The sun was shining, I could see it through my closed eyes.

            Why was I sleeping in the middle of the day? I never slept this late, I had work to do.

            Lavender. That was the first thing I saw even I opened my eyes. I stared in confusion at the wall. What the fuck? Where was I that was painted purple? The only place I knew that was painted this color was…

            _Was my room on Earth._

I sat bolt up right and cried out as a stitch ripped in my leg.

            My leg…

            Whipping off my blanket, I yanked up my pant leg. The bandages were gone. The wound was a thick, dark red line up my leg, with a neat line of white stitches. It didn’t look that bad. It didn’t look that bad. It didn’t…

            But I knew it was. I knew the damage was inside. I knew I was going to be lame. I was going to limp around for the rest of my life. I was a cripple. My war days were most likely over.

            Not that it mattered. The war was over. The Republic had won and the Republic had died. I was on Earth. I was alone.

            R6 started beeping franticly. I had almost forgotten about him. I looked over to see that I accidently threw the blanket over him and he couldn’t get it off.

            “Sorry,” I said, pulling it off. My voice was rough. How long had I been sleeping?

            Swinging my legs off the bed, I tried to stand, and ended up crumbling to the ground, knocking over a lamp in the process.

            Suddenly my mother was there, helping me back into bed.

            “We called a doctor when you should up,” she said. “He came here and redid you’re stitches. He said you should spend the rest of the week in bed.”

            “How long was I out?”

            “Just a day.”

            “What’s the date?”

            “June 23.”

            That floored me. June 23. I was 17. Somewhere in all the mess I had turned 17. Had Anakin tried to kill me on my birthday? I tried to think back through the days. I didn’t know. The days were blurred together and I couldn’t separate them.

            “Your father isn’t happy that you’ve come back,” my mother continued.     

            “I didn’t have a choice,” I replied.

            “You need to apologize to him.”

            I stared at her like she was crazy. “Why? He’s beat the shit--”

            She cut me off. “Do you want to stay here or not?”

            Well. I didn’t really have a choice. So I apologized. He just sneered at me and shoved me out the front door, where I found a horde of press members camped on our front yard. I stumbled and caught myself on the cane I still had and the door frame, eyes widening at the mass of people.

            “General!” someone cried out and shoved a microphone in my face. I pushed it away roughly and snapped:

            “Get your shit out of my face before I bite it.”

            “Let her have some room,” one of them called out, and they backed off, giving me about a five foot radius.

            “What’s the news on the war, General?”

            “It’s over, “ I said. “That’s all I can tell you right now.”

 

            The next couple days were basically a blur. I slept a lot. People who I knew from before kept coming to see me and waking me up. Mom woke me up so I could show my face at dinner. I think Sara woke me up just for the fuck of it. Dad stayed away, but I knew he wasn’t happy.

            R6 was the one to force me to get up and do stuff. I hosed down the X-wing and changed the bandages on my leg. I cleaned my weapons. I went though my supplies and found my commlinks.

            Mom insisted that I was to finish my senior year of high school. I guess she talked to the administration, which said that I could come back and do my senior year even though I left in middle school. I was too tired to argue with her.

            One day I was sitting on the floor in the kitchen, shining my boots, when one of my comms went off. I froze at the tune. It was playing _Hail to the Chief_.

            “Dad no!” I snapped as I saw him pick it up. I lunged at him and grabbed it out of his hand. Quickly, I smoothed my hair down and brushed off my shirt. Then I answered the call.

            “Mr. President, sir,” I said, snapping into an American, right-handed salute.

            “At ease General,” he said. It was a different guy then the last time I was home. Another old white guy.

            I dropped my hand back to my side, and asked, “What can I do for you, sir?”

            “I was wondering if you’d come down to Washington this Monday to meet with me; I have some things I would like to discuss.”

            “Yes, I can do that.”

            “Good. I’ll have someone send you the details. Oh, and land your ship on the White House lawn for me.”

            “Um…Why sir?”

            “Because I want to give everyone a good fright,” he said with a grin and laugh.

            “Very good, I’ll be there.”

            He hung up.

            I turned to my shocked father. “Don’t answer my calls,” I told him and walked out of the room.

 

            Flying from my house to the capital was practically a waste of fuel and a trip. It only took me about a half an hour. As soon as I entered DC airspace, I was flanked with military helicopters. At least they weren’t point machine guns at me this time. I turned the headset in my helmet on.

            “What’s up guys?” I asked.

            “We’re here to talk you in,” came the curt reply.

            “I figured that, I was just trying to be friendly.”

            “Cut the chatter,” someone else said.

            I turned off my mic and muttered, “Fuck I forgot that nobody knows how to have here,” under my breath. R6 beeped in agreement with me.

            We streaked across the DC sky. People on the ground were pointing and slapping their friends until they paid attention. Later I would see pictures online of my X-wing over various landmarks.

            “Let’s set her down easy, R6,” I said as we descended toward the White House’s Nouth Lawn. The helicopters stayed in the air as we landed. I climbed out, leaving my helmet in the cockpit. R6 rocketed down next to me and beeped something about me taking the stupid cane for my leg. I waved him off

            The public and press were behind the fence to my right. I waved and shot them a grin, causing them to lose their shit. Cameras flashed and people screamed everything from my name, to praise, to “Fuck you!”

            The Secret Service stood to my other side and gestured for me to come over. I took about three gimping steps before I stumbled and almost fell.

            “Shit,” I breathed and motioned at R6. He brought the fucking cane and I continued. I had known there was going to be massive amounts of people here, and I had wanted to hide this fucking injury from them. Guess if it hadn’t been out before it would out there now.

            And I looked weak.

 

            The President, and the Joint Chefs of Staff met with me to discuss the war. I told them the truth. Mostly. That the Republic had won but destroyed itself in the process. That the Jedi were dead. That I was seriously wounded and taking refuge on Earth.

            They, of course, were horrified, and sat in silence for a few minutes when I was finished with my tale.

            “Are any of our guys still up there?” the Commandant of the Marine Corps asked.

            I sighed. “I sent them all home a while ago. Staff Sergeant Darius Redman was labeled MIA but is presumed dead.”

            That sentence hurt as it came out, leaving razor cuts in my mouth.

            “What about us?” the President asked. “Planet wise. Will is Empire come here?”

            “I doubt it. I have the only map with a hyperspace route to Earth on it. And you guys are out of the way and don’t really have any resources they need. I wouldn’t be here if I thought it wouldn’t be safe.”

            “What are you planning to do with your time here,” the Chief of Naval Operations inquired.

            “My mother wants me to finish school. After that, I have no idea. Why?”

            He leaned forward. “Have you thought about enlisting when you’re 18? I see you making a great SEAL.”

            “Or a Ranger,” added the Chief of Staff of the Army.

            “Scout Sniper,” piped up the Commandant.

            “Fighter pilot,” countered the Chief of Staff of the Air Force

            “Hell,” said the President, “You could also join the Secret Service.”

            I laughed nervously. “And take a serious demotion and a pay cut? I don’t know. And my leg…I don’t know if I can even manage the physical shit anymore. Besides, it might just be nice to take it easy for a bit.”

            They made me promise to consider it and loaded my up with pages of info and flyers. R6 let out a beeping laugh as we laughed and I shushed him.

           

            Somehow it ended up being the Fourth of July. I had no idea where the time had gone. Mom decided my leg had healed enough for me to leave the house, so she dragged the whole family to the grandparents house. They set off fireworks while I flinched at each bang and boom.

            Eventually someone asked me, “What’s wrong with you?”

            I was strung out enough to answer honestly. “I want to go home.”

            “We’ll go home in a bit,” my mom said. “When all the fireworks are gone.”

            “No,” I stressed. “I want to go _home._ ”

            Dad turned to me then. “You are home. This is your home. Earth is your home.”

            “No it’s fucking not.”

            He grabbed me by the arm. I yanked myself out his grip. He raised a hand and stuck me across the face. Stumbling backwards, I tried to catch myself on my bad leg, and ended up falling into the post of my grandparents’ deck.

            Nobody moved. Nobody said anything. I wiped the blood off my spilt lip and struggled back to feet. I looked my dad in the face, turned, and walked away. I walked down the street. I walked through a parking lot. I walked until I didn’t know where I was.

            And then I ran. I shifted into a horse and bolted. With each step, my leg protested. I kept going. The stitches that were left pulled free and blood trickled out of the open wound. I kept going.

            The landscape and scenery changed, the sun rose and fell, but I didn’t notice. All I noticed was the sound of my steps, the pain in my leg, and the pain in my soul. I threw all my rage, all my sadness, all my fear, all my confusion into each stride. Until my back legs gave out and I went crashing to the floor of a forest. I shifted back to human and immediately blacked out.

            When I woke up I was completely disoriented. I peeled myself out of the mud and crawled over to creek to drink and clean the dirt off my face. My leg felt like wood, and I couldn’t get it to do anything. I fashioned a new cane out of branch and hobbled along until I found a road. I followed it.

            I had no idea where I was. I searched for a road sign, maybe for a highway, but found nothing.

            _Shit this is bad,_ I thought. I had nothing. No weapons beyond a knife. No pack. I could barely walk, didn’t know where I was, and seemingly was in the middle of nowhere. And it was dark.

            Eventually the road came to bridge. Far below was a river. I stood under a streetlight and leaned against the railing, trying to catch my breath. The wind blew back my hair and I forced it back into a ponytail. I could hear the water angrily roaring below me.

            “Are you going to jump?” came a voice. I almost jumped out of my skin and flung around, almost falling over. I staggered back, regaining my balance at edge of the circle of light.

            “What’s it to you?” I called out. I could see the outline of a person in the dark. The eyes glowed eerily.

            “I was going to stop you if you were.”

            “I’m not gonna jump,” I snapped. Then I bit my lip. Had I been going to jump? Now that the idea was in my head, it actually seemed pretty good…

            Shaking my head violently to dislodge the thought, I commanded, “Show yourself!

            He took a few strides forward and came into the light. He was a few years older than me, with dark blond hair and green eyes.

            “Who the fuck are you?” I asked. He grinned and I almost fell over in shock.

            “A friend,” he said, slightly slurred from a set of extended vampire fangs.


	2. Heritage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Williams meets a group of other vampires

His name was Abraham Saintjohn and he was born in 1600s London. He had been turned into a vampire when he was 23. Vampire hunters where big in that time, so he fled to the New World in hopes that he could disappear into the vast wilderness. He eventually learned that he could survive off animal blood and returned to Europe in order to spread his knowledge with other vamps. He amassed a small following and created a sort of vampire family. Since they didn’t age, they moved a lot, to avoid suspicion. When I met them, they lived in Northern California.

            “You’re basically the Cullens from fucking _Twilight,_ ” I said to him and he laughed.

            “We wrote that series to throw people off the real vampires’ trail,” he said. “It’s a tradition of sorts. Most vampire literature is written by actually vampires. We like to see how far fetched we can make ourselves before it gets ridiculous. The more farfetched we make fictional vampires, the more we pass as human.”

            There were six of them.

            Abe, who was the de facto leader of the clan. He had blond hair and green eyes and was only about 5 foot 6. He was also the oldest and the only one to not have gold eyes. “It happens but its rare,” he said about them. He smoked, but was trying to quit.

            Victoria, or Tori. She was born in 1910 and was turned when she was 19. She had been born in New York to Irish immigrants. She had curly, bright red hair that clashed with her golden eyes.

            Carmen, also born in the early 1900s. She was from Spain and spoke Spanish, English, German, and French. Biologically, she was about the same age as me and heavy, dark hair.

            Frank was a flower child. He grew up in late 50s and had apparently been turned into a vampire at Woodstock. He sorta looked like John Lennon.

            Ryan had been born in 1996 and had just been turned a few months before I had shown up. Apparently, had been at a frat party, high off like seven drugs, and agreed to be bitten. His “father” vamp had vanished directly after that.

            And then there was little Skyler, who was biologically and chronologically seven. She was Frank’s daughter to a human woman.

            That shocked me greatly. Male vampires could impregnate someone, Abe told me, but female vampires were sterile because losing that much blood every month would be counterproductive. Apparently, the kids aged normally until they got in the range of 15 to 25 then stopped and they couldn’t turn anyone else.

            “That’s like what happened to me,” I said, “but I was turned too. When I was five.”

            “Turning people that young usually a big no for us,” Frank said. “because they remain kids forever.”      

            “So what happened to me?”  
            “Who knows,” Abe said. “Being a vampire isn’t an exact science. We are still figuring a lot out about ourselves.”

            He told me how when he was first turned he thought he would explode into flames if he walked into sunlight.

            “Eventually, I figured out that we are basically human. We just don’t age and need extra blood,” he said. He had gotten a biology degree just to study himself and found that out bodies absorb blood as it runs through our veins, keeping us young and meaning we slowly run out and have to drink more.

            I stayed with them for a whole month, during which I had R6 bring out my X-wing.

            Abe taught me more about myself and our culture than I could have ever hoped. He taught me that almost everything in vampire books is wrong. He taught me that we could make a tiger-like roar noise. He taught me that there was no such thing as a vampire government. He taught me that our numbers were dwindling.

            “We mate for life,” he explained. “Sleep with whoever you want and it doesn’t matter, but once you commit, that’s it. Game over and humans die quick. That, and it’s customary to ask consent before changing someone. Very few people are willing to deal with what this life entitles.”

            There was still a lot that he didn’t know. He didn’t know why I could shift forms, or why certain vampire’s eyes stayed their human color. He wasn’t sure if we could survive off alien blood that wasn’t red or if we would die. He had no idea where we came from, or where some of the myths about us came from.

            He had a plan to bring public attention to the fact we existed.

            “I almost had a heart attack when you came out on live national TV,” he told me. “I’ve spent the last two years watching the public’s reaction to it, trying to decided if it was safe. I’m very pleased with the reaction. I think its time.”

            And with that he made a few calls and the next thing I know, I’m back to having a bunch of cameras shoved in my face. Reporters from CNN and the local news hung around for a few days interviewing, taking B-Roll shoots, the whole nine yards.

            They ended up running some half hour primetime special about Abe and his gang, which was actually pretty cool. FOX got ahold of some of the footage and did their usual fear mongering thing, but overall, the reaction was pretty positive. Vampires all over the world started following suit.

            I knew Abe was happy about it. Frank told me that he had been looking for an excuse to reveal vampirism for years. I told Frank I was glad that I could help.

 

            July leeched into August. I stayed with the North Cali clan as my leg healed enough to be functional. And then I stayed some more. I knew that I needed to leave, to go home. I was technically underage and required by law to attend school.

            I fought a war but still had to sit through a year of high school.

            One night, Abe found me sitting on their roof.

            “What are you doing?” he asked.

            “Not a damn thing,” I replied, then pointed at the sky. “The stars are nice tonight.”

            He sat next to me without looking. “You’re conflicted about going home.” It wasn’t a question.

            “I’m not conflicted,” I said. “I don’t want to.”

            “But you have to?”

            “Yes.”

            “Why not?”

            “It’s a long story,” I said shortly.

            He leaned back on his hands, finally staring up at the sky. “I fought in World War II, you know. I couldn’t bear what the Germans were doing to my home country, so I went back and joined up. Fought on the European front for four years with the 11th Armoured.”

            “Shit.”

            “Yeah.” He lit cigarette before continuing. “Normandy was nothing but chaos. Tanks running over mines, people getting blown to bits. Once we stopped to rest and I pulled a molar and a bit of brain matter out of my hair.”

            He fell silent, the burning end of cigarette winking in and out as he smoked. I knew not to push the issue; if he wanted to continue, he could do so when he was ready. He finished his cig, crushed the butt on the roof, pulled out a match (never a lighter for some reason), and lit another.

            “I was there when we liberated Bergen-Belsen,” he continued. “Dead bodies just tossed everywhere, rotting away. 13,000 they said later. We had to bulldoze them into mass graves. And 60,000 we found alive, but barely. I fought our kind there, vampire SS officers taking advantage of the situation to feed, or even killing for sport.

            “That was what stayed with me the most. I knew of a few other vampires fight for the Allies, but none in my Division. Only I knew what the roars and the red eyes meant. A few of them snuck into our camp in the middle of the night, started picking people off. I heard them.” He grinned ruefully for a second. “I had to convince a few people I wasn’t an angel that night. Or that I wasn’t a demon.

            “But I brought it all home with me. The war was physically over, but still raged on in my head. Still does sometimes, after all these years.”

            “That’s not that reassuring, to be perfectly honest. Why are you telling me this?”

            He turned towards me, his face awash in the orange glow of his cigarette. “War does things to people. Us PTSD-ers gotta stick together.”

            “I don’t have PTSD.”

            “Yeah, whatever you say.”

            Silence again. A shooting star streaked across the sky.

            I spoke up, “What did you do? After you came home?”

            “Bought a fast motorcycle. Got really heavy into rock and roll. Experimented with drugs.” He gave me a sharp look. “I don’t recommend that last one.”

            “Wasn’t planning on it.”

            “Are you religious?” he asked suddenly.

            “Why?”

            “Helps sometimes,” he said, absentmindedly pulling out a gold cross on a chain out from underneath his shirt and spinning it around his finger.

            “I spent the last 3 years living with the Jedi,” I said with a small smile. “It’s hard not to believe in something after that. It might not be your god though. ”

            “I can respect that.”

            “Dude, okay. Not to be an ass here,” I continued, smile growing bigger. “but a Christian vampire? Seems a little ironic, dontcha think?”

            He grinned back. “Life is full of irony.” He started to get up. “And hey, coming back is hard, but you’re a general. If someone gets on your nerves remind them that another kill to your count isn’t that big of deal.”

            I chuckled and laid back to watch the stars again. “Good plan.”

            “And just do what you love,” he said as he started to climb down off the roof.

            “What if I don’t know what that is?”

            “You’ll figure it out.”

 

           

            The X-wing was below half a tank. That was going to be an issue if I ever needed to get back anywhere in the other galaxy.

            “Diesel,” I said, flipping through the manual. “We’ll fix what’s left with diesel fuel.”

            R6 beeped his concerned with that plan.

           “Shush,” I told him, “It’ll be fine. I think. We just can’t go anywhere unless it’s an emergency.”

            He made a whistling noise.

            “No, it’s not in the manual. Yes, I’m guessing but I’m pretty sure. Like 95% sure this will work.”

            “Vrrrr….”

            “The other 5, we blow up. It’s fine.”

            I bid Abe and his gang farewell and took off, using a CB radio to try and find a truck stop that would let me land. Finally, I did and set down amidst camera shutter snaps and stares. It was one of my “timeless” moments because the picture never really went away; mirrored aviators, Springsteen’s _Born to Run_ playing on the X-wing’s radio, blue jeans with a dirty red bandana in the back pocket, tipping a two fingered salute to the small crowd, with a US flag flying behind the ship. Someone put their kids through college with that picture. Years later, I saw it on the cover of a high school American history textbook and chuckled.

            The ship definitely ran worse, as I expected. The diesel was a last resort that would take me back home, but only if I didn’t fly anywhere else until then. I was officially grounded.

 

            I knew it was gonna be a fight with my parents before I even landed. The two of the argued about what to do with me while I stood by the door, shifting my weight from foot to foot.

            “Look,” I finally said. “This isn’t anyone’s first choice. As soon as I turn 18 I’ll be outta here. But until then--”

            “Until then, nothing,” my dad cut me off.

            “I’m a fucking war hero,” I snapped. “You don’t get to tell me shit. Everybody out there loves me, and by extension, they love you. I can end that real quick.”

            He looked at me. “What do you mean?”

            “I mean that I can go to the cops. I can go to the media. I don’t have anything to lose anymore and I know they _all_ will side with me because I’m me.”

            “But--”

            “Don’t fucking try me. I’m not kidding around.”

            He backed down, sulking like an angry child. My mom drifted off to make dinner. I stood where I was, realizing that for the first time, I was in a position of power within my relationship with my parents. I shot R6 a grin and sauntered into my room, feeling triumphant for the first time since I had been back.


	3. Reintegration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being a normal teenager is tough. Especially when you're trying to reintegrate back into civilian life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note:  
> I'm sorry this took so long. My life has been nothing but a mess for the last couple months. I'm now working 40+ hours a week split between two jobs and going to university full time. I've also spent since May trying to stressing about coming out as a transgender male to my family, friends, and classmates.   
> Now that I have my shit together, updates should be back on a some sort of schedule. Hopefully.

            Adjusting back into civilian life, especially _Earth_ civilian life, is never easy for me.

            Nothing exemplifies that more than my experience with the DMV that August. I wanted to see if my license to drive a speeder/starfighter would transfer over to be a license to drive a car. Of course the DMV is never fun, and I have shit luck so the interaction went like this:

            Lady behind the counter: “Can I help you?”

            Me: “Yes sir, I need to--”

            Her (angrily): “Excuse me? Did you just call me ‘sir’?”

            Me (confused): “…yes?”

            Her: “Do you I look like a man to you?!”

            Me: “What?”

            Her: “You called me _sir!”_

I tried to explain that ‘sir’ was a gender-neutral term for someone in a position of authority, but she wasn’t having it. I apologized and asked if I could just speak to a different worker, but she wasn’t having that either. I eventually got mad and snapped something like, “I saved the damn planet for this?!” and felt a heavy hand come down on my shoulder.

            Startled, I jumped to the side, reaching automatically for a blaster.

            “Easy,” the guy said to me. It was a cop. Dark skinned, about my height, and big.

            He looked at the DMV lady and said, “Do you know who this is?”

            She sneered at me. “Another punk kid.”

            “This is General Alex Williams. She just spent four years in another galaxy fighting a war. During which she did indeed save the planet.”

            The woman looked me up and down again. “So what?”

            “So maybe you should show her a little respect.”

            Okay, I officially liked this guy.

            “Even if you are a cop,” she said, “I’m not taking any orders from you.” Then she called the cop a racial slur that I’m not going to repeat. I lost what was left of my cool and lunged across the counter with a snarl. She jerked back, tripped and fell. I would have gone over after her if the cop and another guy hadn’t grabbed me and yanked me back.

            Everybody was watching the interaction now. The manager or something came over, and told us we had to leave. People around us started arguing, for and against. Eventually, the cop just said that we would leave, and I angrily stalked after him, hands in my pockets.

            “Well,” he said once we were outside. “I’m Magnus Taylor.”

            I shook his outstretched hand. “You already know who I am, apparently.”

            He grinned. “Of course.”

            Magnus gave me a lift to the next closest DMV (where I _did_ get a drivers license), and told me about his time as an Army Ranger and how he ended up joining the police force. He asked if I wanted to come shooting with him a few times, which I agreed to.

            And hell, I was so glad I did. Shooting kept me sane. It took us a while to find a range that was okay with me using bolts. Even after we did, I went out and bought a nice bullet rifle. Bolts were finite and precious now; I didn’t want to waste them.

            My goal was really to fill all of my free time. Downtime was my enemy. It gave me more time to think, more time to feel, more time to get lost in what had happened. Eventually, school took up my time during the day. Monday and Wednesday nights, Taylor and I went to the range. I found a job at a local show jumper barn, and worked there Friday nights, and all weekend.

            That still left a lot of empty hours. So many blank night left to stare at the wall and remember.

 

            School.

            School and I had an interesting relationship. Through some ridiculous test, they somehow figured out that I could re-enter school as a senior. Meaning, I didn’t miss anything and was still set to graduate with the rest of my class. I’m not sure _why_ they thought that, since I had never finished eight grade, but whatever.

            The novelty of it wore off quick for everyone.

            At first, the routine and structure of it helped me. It reminded me of the military. Then it turned into too much; too much to keep up with, too much to handle, too much to think about, too much structure, too much free time.

            My fellow students were excited until they realized I actually wasn’t any cooler than I was when I left. I refused to talk about the war, claiming it was classified, and they quickly lost interest in me. Friends from my younger years still hung around me, but I could tell they weren’t totally wild about it. The future military crowd sort of adopted me, but even with them, I still felt like an outsider.

            Teachers were mostly chill with my presence. Save for Mr. Anderson, my math teacher, they basically gave me a free pass to do whatever I wanted and still get an A. The only class I actually gave two shits about was English.

            The administration was 150% on board with my being there, until they figured out that I was most likely a liability. Somebody must have complained they didn’t feel safe around the middle of September, because that’s when they really came down on me. They started watching me like a group of hawks and automatically expecting me to be the worst I could possibly be. So of course, I started acting the worst I had the energy to, which wasn’t a lot.

            For some reason, they were adamant that I take a gym credit my first semester back. I argued, with the school nurse backing me up, that my leg was still fucked to hell, and wouldn’t be able to take it. They threw me into the weightlifting class with the footballer players and called it a day. The coach was pretty laid back, and the kids in the class seemed to be motivated by the fact that I could out bench-press them all. And the fact that was I a good quarterback (as long as I was behind a decent line and didn’t have to run) made them all like me.

            I guess it could have gone a lot worse.

            The problem was that when I get bored, I get reckless.

 

            It started when one of my military friends came up to me one day in November. He asked if I knew about the party, to which I said something snarky like, “should I?”

            Turns out there was a pretty sizable party at Pitt that weekend and a bunch of them were going. I tagged along for one specific reason; to get so drunk I couldn’t stand up straight.

            Apparently, there was an ulterior motive for getting me to go. I was introduced to a group of kids that evidently supplied my entire hometown with weed. They needed help from someone with my particular skill set.

            I wasn’t drunk when the leader waved a fat stack of cash in my face. I wasn’t drunk when I grabbed it and agreed to assist them.

            I wasn’t sober either, but definitely not drunk.

           

            My job was to figure out a way to avoid the cops. I was given complete permission to change whatever I needed in the operation.

            I listened to Cameron, the guy who gave me the money the night before, as he gave me the rundown. The police were on to them, and wanted to nab them. They need to make a run to one of their growers in Massachusetts. They wanted me to make sure they could get around the cops. Crunching on some ibuprofen to fend off my hangover, I nodded and asked to see what they planed to smuggle the drugs in. It was a high-top conversion van.

            For the next couple of day, I retrofitted the van with every smuggler’s compartment I could think off. Under the floorboards, in the high top, in the seats. Then I got it painted a different color, silver, and got a different license plate. I faked the insurance card and registration.

            We made the run over Thanksgiving break, which gave me an excuse to not be around my family.

            “What is all this?” Cameron asked me as I started setting up equipment between front seats.

            “You wanna avoid the fuzz right? I’ve got a police scanner, a CB radio, and this guy.” I plugged (what was basically) my GPS into the cigarette lighter, and fiddled with some settings. “This might be a little buggy; it’s made for scanning an entire solar system, not just ten klicks out. But we should be okay.”

            “What is it?”

            “It tells you were the cops are,” I said, handing it to him. “That green dot is the van. The red dots are cop cars. The blue are stations or other things that don’t move. So just drive and avoid them as they pop up on the map.”

            He stared at me like a I was a god, stuck the GPS to the windshield, and started the van.

            “How’s it work?” somebody behind me asked. There were four other people on this trip.

            “I can’t give away all my secrets,” I answered. Truth was, it just scanned frequencies, but they didn’t need to know that.

            Everything went smoothly, until we tried to come home. The van was loaded up with marijuana. It was the middle of the night, and I was dozing off.

           Cameron shook me awake with a sharp, “General.”

            “What is it?” I asked, sitting up and looking at the GPS. “Shit.”

            There was a line of red dots across the road about five miles ahead of us. Traffic was basically stopped. The truckers of the CB radio said it was a seatbelt checkpoint.

            “Yeah right,” I said, disbelievingly, a millisecond before a trucker named ‘Chubbs’ gave the call that there were K9 units.

            The boys in the back were so tense I could feel it in the air.

            “All right Williams,” Cameron said. “This is why was hired you. Do something.”

          I drummed my fingers on the dashboard, thinking. Then I slipped my laptop out of my bag. Quickly, I activated the hotspot on my phone, went online, and found what school district we were in. The elementary school’s Facebook page led me to what I was looking for; a single mother with a young daughter. I fed her name into the Yellowpages and found her address and phone number. I pulled out a small device out, inputted that information, and then plugged it into my phone. Using the videos that mom had posted online, I mimicked the kid’s voice until I thought I had it down.

            “Okay, what I’m about to do is extremely illegal and I need everybody to be quiet,” I said. Everybody nodded. I dialed 911 and put it on speaker.

            “911, what’s your emergency?” the guy on the other end said.

            “Hello,” I said in the voice of the little girl. “My mommy told me to call this number if I was ever in trouble.”

            “That’s right, hun.” The guy was troubled now. “What’s wrong?”

            “Well, there’s a bad man in our house.”

            “What kind of bad man?”

            “I don’t know. He was at the door. Mommy just told me to hide upstairs and she would be there soon but she hasn’t come yet.”

            “Where’s your dad?”

            “Mommy said he left a long time about with someone named Jack Daniels.”

            I grimaced. That was a terrible pun, but the best thing I could think of on the fly. Cameron gave a quiet snort of laughter. I shot him a look.

            “Can you tell me where you are?”

            “In mommy’s closet.”

            “What’s your address?”

            I gave them the address of Yellowpages, then opened Youtube and quickly searched for a clip to queue up.

            “Okay love, just stay on the phone okay?” the 911 operator told me.

            “I think he’s outside the door,” I whispered, then pressed play and held the phone up the laptop speaker. The video was a shitty horror movie clip of a guy opening a door and saying, “There you are!”

            As soon as the line was said, I hit the end button. For a second nothing happened. Then on the police scanner, a frantic call:

            “All units respond. Reports of a home invasion. Child in danger.”

            The red dots on the GPS sped off to the east and we were off again.

            For a few miles, all I got were stares.

            “Well,” Cameron finally said. “That was something.”

            I grinned. “That’s what you’re paying me for.”

 

            Fall turned into winter. I did a few more run with the weed guys, but it eventually got mundane. I gave them my equipment and told them to have fun. The show season ended, and with it, so did my work at the stable. My days at the range with Taylor were cut short by the weather. I suggested we turn to archery because we could do it indoors. He turned me down, so I went by myself.

            All of my winter break was spent in California with Abe and his group. He opened up an offer for me to move in with them after I graduated. I accepted, mostly because I wasn’t sure where else I could go.

            Before I left, he pressed a small vial filled with clear liquid into my hands.

            “Just in case,” he said. “Sometimes people’s lives are worth extending.”

           

            The next semester was a violent downward spiral.

            Since I was about the graduate, I had three free periods out of the eight there were in a day.

            “What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” I asked when they handed me my schedule. As it turns out, that was terrible question, because the school’s answer was to force me to talk to a guidance counselor during one of them and help teach a gym class during another. The last I had to myself, and I used it to teach myself to play the guitar I had found in my parents’ basement.

            Teaching the gym class didn’t last more than two weeks, but the normal teacher got fed up with me. Talking to guidance counselor was worthless, even he said so, and that ended after a month. I ended up drifting around, staying in the cafeteria for the full hour and a half lunch period, hanging out with teachers when they weren’t teaching, talking to military recruiters if they were there.

            So much free time allowed my head to spin. Everything got worse. Nightmares, my temper, my grades. I wasn’t eating, I wasn’t sleeping.

            It all started to come to head in April, when a dude tried to rob us while I was home alone. I was sitting in my room with headphones on when I heard the crash of broken glass. Next thing I know, two cops are physically pulling me off the guy, who was beaten bloody on the floor below me. They didn’t charge me with anything, luckily, but there was a profound shift in the town after that. Everybody started viewing me as dangerous. Not that I wasn’t before, but not it was front and center. I could snap at any moment. I could hurt people.

            Of course, it spilled over into school. The school resource officer, Officer Dame, body slammed into the wall because he wanted to search my guitar case. Teachers started treating me like more of a problem. Kids started avoiding me.

            As it got warmer, everybody got more rowdy.

            Later that month, things took a turn for the worst. It was a Friday and it was raining. All of us wanted to be outside, but instead were all corralled into the cafeteria. I was in sitting with a mixture of my old friends and my military friends when a scuffle broke out two tables away.

            It looked at thought a smaller kid had done something to offend one of the usually trouble makers. Without thinking, I got up to intervene. There were tugs at my jacket to get me to sit back down, but I ignored them.

            “What seems to be the problem?” I asked, walking up to the two of them.

            “It doesn’t concern you,” Will, the bigger of the two said. The smaller one, James, was on the ground. I pulled him up to his feet and brushed the dirt off his shoulders.

            “Are you okay?”

            He nodded. I heard the _click_ of a knife blade snapping into place.

            “Good. Then duck.” I shoved him back down as Will slashed the knife through the air where he had just been standing. I reached out and caught his arm on the return, twisted until he dropped the weapon, and flipped him backwards into a table.

            I knew before he even got up that I had broken his arm, and I wasn’t sorry about it.

            Officer Dame was there and had me in a pair of handcuffs before anyone could move. I submitted without any protest, figuring I would be let off the hook since the other kid had pulled a knife on me.

            No such luck.

            The principal was waiting for me in his office and opened with, “What have you done now?”  
            “Excuse me?” I snapped. “I stopped somebody for stabbing another student.”

            “You caused a disturbance. _Again._ ”

            I looked at him like he was crazy as Dame uncuffed me. The vice principal, the guidance counselor, and the nurse entered the room. I turned my attention to them.

            “Well?” I asked. “What do you have to say?”

            The guidance counselor opened his mouth and got out the words, “Ms. Williams is--” before I interrupted with, “ _General!_ The least you could do is acknowledge that!”

            He narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say anything.

            The VP spoke up, “Parents have expressed their concern that something like this might happen.”

            “I didn’t ask to be here! In fact, I’d rather not be!”

            She continued as if I hadn’t made a sound. “They think you might be unsafe for the their children to be around.”

            I scoffed and that was enough for Dame. He threw me into the wall. I caught myself with both hands and he kicked my legs apart, almost making the bad one buckle.

            “Hey!” I shouted as he gave me probably the roughest pat down I have ever been given. There was enough hand to make me feel uncomfortable, which is pretty hard to achieve. “Fucking watch it!”

            He found nothing, and I thought he was through, so I went to stand up straight. Apparently, he wasn’t done, because he put a hand on the back of my head, and shoved my face back against the wall. I dropped and twisted out of his grip.

            That’s when the barbs hit me. One in the middle of the chest and one in the stomach. I had enough time to think, _Oh shit,_ before he squeezed the trigger.

            Now, being tased by a normal Earth TASER is only enough to slow me down for a few seconds. So the first time, I was stopped for a few moments, but then was fine.

            The second made me stumble a few steps backwards, limbs growing stiff.

            The third had me on my hands and knees, shaking as the 50,000 volts ran through my body.

            “Okay,” I choked out. “Okay, I’ll--”

            He must of hit it again because the next thing I knew, my cheek was resting against the cool title floor and I couldn’t move.

            “That’s enough!” somebody yelled. “You’re going to kill her!”

            It must have been the nurse because then she was there, pulling me up, sitting me against the wall, and pulling the barbs out of my shirt.

            I was staring at my hands, which were smeared with blood. Where had that come from? My nose, I found out later, whether it was from the shocks are hitting it off the wall and floor, I do not know. Everything hurt and my head felt like it was filled with mud. I’d been shocked and stunned before, but nothing like this.

            The nurse helped me to my feet, and took my through the admin wing to her office. I stayed there until I could mostly move and think again. Hands still shaking, they made me go to math because there was a test. I spent the period staring at the paper, and turned it in blank.

            “What happened?”

            I heard the question, but didn’t see where it was from. I just shook my head and walked off. The next period a girl I didn’t even know passed me a note:

            _We stand with you._

            Somehow, the news that I had been manhandled and tased four times in a row had gotten out. Over the next week and half, I found tens of notes, bathroom wall writings, and even spray-painted graffiti, all claiming the student body stood with me.

            That support got put the test the first week of May.

            Anderson, the math teacher, accused me of cheating. The assignment was on 3D scatter plots.

            “I don’t cheat!” I insisted.

            “This test was better than anything you’ve ever done in this class. What else am I supposed to think?”

            “I used this same method to navigate a galaxy for three years. 0,0,0 is Coruscant; everything else is a different planet. It’s easy!”

            “I don’t believe you.”

            “Why not?!”

            “Your act doesn’t fool me. You’re nothing but another problem kid.”

            I drew back, probably way more offended than I should have been. “Fuck off, man.”

            “Office,” he said, standing. “Now.”

            “For what?”

            Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the class watching us and trying to make it look like they still had their eyes on their papers.

            “Insubordination,” Anderson said. He reached forward and grabbed my arm. A low mumbling ran through the room.

            I stared at his hand for a second, barely keeping my cool. “Let go of me.”

            “If you don’t go to the office, I will take you there.”

            “Like hell you will.”

            He tried, yanking me towards the door. I twisted out of his grip and shoved him away. Apparently, it was a bit rougher than I thought; he stumbled backwards, tried to catch himself on his desk, and toppled to the ground, bringing a cascade of papers down on top of him.

            “Don’t expect me in class tomorrow,” I told him and walked out.

            I was halfway down the hallway before I realized most of my classmates had followed me, and that we were growing in numbers as we went. By the time we reached the school’s front doors, about 600 of the 1000 students had joined.

            The admin team, the resource officer, and the rent-a-cops stood there, as if to try and stop us. When they saw the mob, as it was quickly becoming, they quickly backed down and stepped aside.

            Feeling like the general I was for the first time in the better part of a year, I kicked the push bar door open and turned my face to the sun.


	4. Return of the General

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Williams returns to the galaxy, bent on vengeance against the Empire. She discovers old friends waiting for her, as well as a terrible secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit here we are! A year later and General Williams is back in all her terribly written glory!! 
> 
> I'm so sorry for the delay guys...Please don't hate me! Things have been a bit insane in my life. I got like three concussions and started T and got promoted and lost my job and went to Alaska and started like 8 new jobs and started writing a real novel and lowkey dropped outta school (I'm going back, don't worry) and a million other things. 
> 
> I know my writing style has probably evolved and changed a bit in this extended break, I hope that's okay.
> 
> Don't ask what the update schedule will look like because I have no idea, but I promise there wont be a damn year between updates this time.

            They arrested me of course.

            I spent a week in the county prison, which was actually not too bad. I was in a cell with three other girls, all of us under 18, the youngest being 15.

            The first thing I said to them was, “I get top bunk.”

            Nobody argued.

            While I was waiting for the school and cops too decided what they were going to do with me, the media was having a field day. Luckily, I take a good mug shot. That one was one of my best, if I do say so myself. Nothing says, “I’m an asshole and I know you all love it,” like giving the cameraman a cocky half-grin as you hold the placard.

            In the end, I was released without being charged. I did get expelled though, which means I wasn’t going to graduate, not that it really mattered.

            The biggest thing that happened was dad looking at me and saying, “You’ve got three days to get out of my house.” I figured I could always go hand out with Abe and his group for a bit, or go off on my own, but I had the motivation for neither.

            “Whatcha think, R6?” I asked the droid. “What should we do now?”

            He whistled at me and rolled over to desk, bumping into it repeatedly.

            “What are you doing?” I got up and walked over to him. “What’s the matter?”

            It took me a second to see the message light on one of my comms blinking. It was the encrypted one. Only four people could call into that one. The four that had been on Polis Massa after Order 66. I stared at the light for a solid five minutes, a million things running through my mind.

            Whatever it was, it had to be serious. Right? They probably called while I was in jail. What if they needed something that was time sensitive? Even if I had been there to pick it up, I couldn’t have gotten anywhere quickly; I was at least a day away from the furthest reaches of that galaxy. What if something important or terrible or great had happened?

            Finally, I picked it up and opened the message. It was Han.

            By the Force, I swear I almost lost it right there. He’d really grown up over the last year. How old was he now? 11? Fuck.

            “So…uh…” he looked nervous, and shuffled from foot to foot. “I know you told me to only use this line if there was an emergency. But there’s some people here that say they know you. Apparently, they fought with you in the Clone Wars? I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “They keep asking me if I know how to contact you cuz they want your help fighting the Empire. I told them I would try. But you aren’t answering so…yeah I guess I’ll just tell them that. I guess.” He chewed in his lip in silence for a second, and then the message ended.

            I could only think of one thing.

            Fighting.

            The Empire.

            There were motherfuckers out there who were taking the fight to the Imperials. To Palpatine.

            And they wanted my help.

            I knew overthrowing the Empire was not even anywhere close to being on the table. But I could make them suffer. I could make them suffer for what they did to me. To the Jedi. To the galaxy.

            “C’mon R6,” I said, shoving the comm in my pocket. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

            On my way out the door, my mother asked, “Where are you going? It’s almost time for dinner.”

            I stopped, looked at her, and said, “Off to fight a war that will probably kill me. Don’t make me a plate.”

            Before she could reply, I was gone.

           

            The first thing I did was stop at a fueling station. The x-wing’s tank was almost empty; I wasn’t sure we were gonna make it. I flipped the fuelers a 20-credit chip and told them to drain what was left in the tank and refill it. Then I slipped into a bathroom.

            Nobody had recognized me yet. I wasn’t sure if that was because of the way I was dressed (sweatpants and tennis shoes) or if everybody thought I was dead. It didn’t matter either way, they’d all know soon enough.

            I washed my face and stared at myself in the mirror. I didn’t look like the general who had left not even a year ago. I turned away and started laying out everything I needed. Tall boots, dark jeans, holster and blasters, knife, black shirt, Republic jacket with my rank insignia on it, rifle. Then, slowly, I put it all on, hanging my jacket on the door.

            Watching myself in the mirror again, I braided my hair back. That looked better. I grabbed my jacket and hesitated before shrugging it on. No going back now. I shouldered my rifle on my right, my pack on my left, and walked out the door.

            It was just a few people at first. A quiet mutter.

            _Is that General Williams?_

_I think it is!_

_She’s supposed to be dead._

_Apparently not._

And then it was everyone, all their eyes following me as I made my way back to the ship, trying to keep my gaze dead ahead and the limp out of my step. I climbed ladder into the x-wing, turned around, acknowledging the group of people gathered on the landing platform for the first time.

            They looked at me, expecting something.

            I thrust my rifle in the air and shouted:

            “ _DEATH TO THE EMPIRE!”_

            The news spread like wildfire across the galaxy, and I was not ahead of it. I kept one ear on a holonet news station, trying to figure out what the Empire had to say about it. Apparently, my presence in and of itself wasn’t breaking any laws. That actually surprised me. After Order 66, I figured I’d be a wanted man. I guess only the Jedi had targets on their backs. If there were any left.

            Briefly, I wondered if I was technically deserting. Since I had been a part of the Grand Army of the Republic, did my contract transfer over the Empire? If things had gone differently a year ago, would I be carrying out the Emperor’s dirty work? I shook the idea off. It didn’t matter now.

            I took the fighter low over Mos Eisley, trying to find an open landing bay. At least 20 people sprinted along in my shadow on the ground. I set down, climbed out, and scan the faces in the gathering crowd. I didn’t know any of these people. Who did Han mean when he said there were people who fought with me in the Clone Wars? Who was even left from the Clone Wars?

            “General,” somebody to my left said. “It’s an honor, really. Right this--”

            I held up a hand to stop him.

            “I’m here to see Han Solo. I’m answering his call, and that is my business right now.”

            “Of course. Right this way.”

            He led the way as the crowd parted around him. He was blabbering on about something I can no longer remember when I saw a familiar flash of ginger hair.

            For a second I thought for sure it was a ghost, and the words, “You’re supposed to be dead,” came out of my mouth before I could stop them.

            Darius smiled and I saw new lines around his eyes. His hair was long enough now that he had it tied back. “So are you.”

            We both stood there for a second, unsure of what to do.

            He broke out of the moment first, striding forward to give me a hug.

            “It’s good to see you, General,” he said. A little more than slightly startled, it took me a second to react, to hug him back.

            “They told me you went missing,” I finally said as he took a step back. “We thought you had been killed. Where have you been?”

            “The Citadel actually,” he answered.

            I felt the blood drain from my face. The Citadel was a Republic prison that had fallen in to Separatist hands at the beginning of the war. It was notoriously not nice.

            “Oh man. If we’d have known…we would have sent someone after you,” I said quickly.

            He shook his head and put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it now. I got out in the chaos after the Empire shut down all the battle droids. Half the men here followed me out. One of them, Telanna, had family on Tatooine so here we are. I didn’t realize I’d run into people that knew you.”

            “Han,” I said. “Where is he?”

            Darius motioned me to follow him, and I did so, letting him lead the way through the bustling streets of Mos Eisley. It was apparent which warehouse was Dak’s before we got there; parts of fighters and other ships were scattered around the yard and it seemed like he was still running some sort of eatery/room-for-rent business. His wife saw us coming and ran out of the house, saying that we needed to go to the cantina.

            The sign over the door read “Chalmun's” and when I walked in, the band stopped in the middle of their song and started playing Back in Black. Of course, that immediately drew everybody’s attention to me, and I had to fight the desire to bolt. These people expected me to be some sort of great force in this fight, I could see that now. I’m not sure I had that left in me.

            “Alex!”

            The cry was accompanied by Han Solo slamming into me, hugging me tightly.

            “Kid!” I exclaimed, tussling his hair. “How ya been? Dak treating you well?”

            He pulled back and scowled. “You left me here.”

            “Well…yeah. I had to. It was safer for you.”

            “But--” he started, only to be cut off by Darius calling me over. I promised Han we’d finish the conversation later, and joined the Marine.

            I never did finish that conversation.

            “The Empire has done nothing by grow,” Darius told me, gesturing to a holo map of the galaxy. “There’s a few worlds left, like this one, that are still pretty lawless. But it won’t be long.”

            I rubbed my chin. “How bad are they?”

            He grimaced. “Pretty bad. They’ve enslaved almost all the Wookiees aready.”

            “The whole race?”

            “The whole race.”

            “God damn…” I breathed.

            “That’s not all,” Darius continued. “Reports of corrupted officials are running wild. They’ve been strip mining entire planets. Clones are being phased out of the army and just kicked out onto the streets to fend for themselves, or killed. And there’s this guy.”

            Darius pulled up a holo of a _huge_ man clad entirely in black armor.

            “They say his name is Vader. They say that he’s half machine and the sound of his breathing alone is enough to terrify you. He’s got a lightsaber. A red lightsaber.”

            “He’s a Sith Lord,” I said.

            “He’s an unstoppable force of nature, that’s what he is,” Dar said. “He destroys everything and everyone in front of him. Which almost seems backwards, since he was supposedly once a Jedi Knight.”

            “A Jedi Knight?” I repeated. “I don’t remember anybody like him in the Order.”

            “Rumors say he helped _overthrow_ the Order. From the inside. That he turned evil and killed everyone during the Purge.”

            “Is that what they’re calling it now? The Purge?” I asked, my voice tinged with anger. “It was a damn massacre. And I know for a fact that no half droid, fallen Jedi was involved. I was there…and…”

            I trailed off, for a second flashing back to that day in the Council room. The lightsaber cuts on those kids. On Ahsoka. Rex bleeding out in my arms.

            Suddenly, my body went ridged. The Jedi who had fallen and killed all those people, all my friends, was _Anakin._ Anakin who Obi-Wan had left to burn in lava. Anakin who surely died there, along the banks of that Mustafarian river.

            Unless…

            Unless he didn’t. Unless Palpatine had saved him somehow. By placing what was left of his broken, mangled body into a life support suit.

            A black, monstrous life support suit.

            “General?” Darius’ voice broke through my scrambled thoughts. “Are you okay?”

            “The holo of Vader,” I heard myself saying. “I need to borrow it.”

            “Of course.”

            “I have business in the Dune Sea. I’ll be back within 24 hours.”

 

It took a bit of Obi-Wan to pick up, but when he did, he gave him the location of his hiding place without hesitation.

            I was so happy to see him when he opened the door to his little hovel that I broke down in tears. He embraced me and seemed teary himself.

            “It’s good to see you, Williams,” he said. “You look no worse from wear.”

            “I can’t say the same for you,” I replied. He looked like he had aged 10 years in the last one. He just sighed.

            We sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping on so (rather bad) tea.

            “Anakin’s not dead,” I said finally.

            Obi-Wan flinched like I had kicked him. “How do you know?”

            I showed him the footage of Vader. He watched it without a word.

            “I suspected as much,” he said, passing a hand over his face. “I think Palpatine somehow drained the Living Force out of Padmé to keep Anakin alive until they placed him in the suit.”

            “Is that possible?”

            “Truthfully,” he admitted. “I don’t know.”

            “What do we do?”

            “We?” he asked with a humorless laugh. “General, there is now ‘we’ anymore. The Jedi are dead.”

            “But _we_ aren’t.”

            He sighed and got up, walking over to the window. “My duty now is to look after the boy. Anakin’s son. Luke. He’s our only hope.”

            “And Leia,” I cut in.

            “And Leia,” he repeated. “But until they are old enough, I’m not sure there’s anything we can do.”

            “I’ve got a cell of rebels in Mos Eisley ready to go,” I said. “They’d love for you to join us.”

            “No,” he said decidedly. “And if you have any sense, you’ll take them off world before the Empire takes notice and starts paying more attention to Tatooine.”

            “But--”

            “Alex,” he came back over, and put his hands on my shoulders. “I know you want to get the past back. So do I. But you can’t. You have to do this on your own. Find other rebel cells, form up with them. Do what you can. Distract the Empire as best you can and maybe they won’t find the twins.”

            I blinked tears out of my eyes and looked away. “Obi-Wan…I don’t know if I can do this. I’m…I’m just a kid.”

            “If anybody has a chance against the Empire, it’s you, Williams. You’ve never let us down before.”

            Taking a shaky breath, I stood. “Thank you, sir.”

            “Call me Ben,” he said with a smile. It didn’t reach his eyes.

            “Thank you, Ben,” I amended, starting to leave. “May the Force be with you.”

            “May the Force be with you,” he echoed. “And oh, General? If you run into…into Vader, remember that Anakin is gone.”

            I froze in the doorway, hand tightening on the frame. I shot a look back at the Jedi, the last of the Jedi, and left without a word.

 

Dak outfitted the group, about 50 members strong, with ships and fighters. We left Tatooine that night, with Han Solo cursing me to hell and back for leaving him behind yet again.


End file.
